Ghost
by Bon Katze
Summary: They tell him he'll be home soon. They tell him he'll be comfortable at home in District 12. Peeta is already home. Cato is his home. Peeto, Peetato, slash, yaoi, bl, mxm You know the drill.


"_I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it becomes."_

_- Vladimir Nabokov_

They told him it was over. That everything would be better now, and he was a Victor and could go home with his head held high and proud. Home. What a funny concept, now had it become. They told him he would forget all about it when he was home, where he was safe and could live in comfort until the day he died. He found it mildly ironic, amusing definitely, that so many would die ensuring his own comfort. He found himself smirking, often now. Everything in his life seemed an elaborate muse. Where was this home they spoke of? He had none, at least not in the sense they prattled on to his deaf ears about. Peeta was already home. He had been home in the arena, in the training area, and in the death he should have met a week ago, not years in the future like they assured it would be. Home was here, in Cato's arms, in the shallow rocking cabin of the Capital train that took them back to District 12.

He couldn't quite remember the events leading up to this train ride. They all seemed to flash by in a phantasmagoria of moving pictures and shapes and camera flashes. He had gone to the arena thinking he loved Katniss, and left knowing he loved Cato. Everything seemed very simple to him. He'd gone, fell in with Careers, sparked an infatuation with the brawny blonde from District 2, (much to the delight of the public, they'd imply in interviews after the fact) and then gone in search of Katniss when it had been announced among the carnage that there was a way for both to survive. But oh, the star-crossed lovers from across a nation to meet under such tragic circumstances had already been etched a place into the cosmos. And so, with great trepidation, had a shaky relationship with Katniss Everdeen been forged and deemed a title that should have been reserved for Cato and Peeta. Still, Peeta had done the noble thing, had tried to save her even though she really did most of the saving, and when the time had come and there met the three of them, the most magnificent Triangle the Games had ever seen, Peeta had chosen. It was all very simple. At least, he assumed it was. He couldn't quite remember the aftermath, except that Cato had threatened and Katniss had shot a bow… and then there had been this announcement, he couldn't remember what, and in the end he awoke with his hand clasped in Cato's as they faced the new world together. A very simple affair, indeed. The reporters told him otherwise. They could not have enough. They called him "tragic", his love for Cato "endearing and disheartening." They touted him as a "Juliet without a Romeo," which he couldn't understand because he was hardly a swooning maiden, and besides, his Romeo followed him everywhere he went. Never an appearance was made without Cato at his side, sitting contentedly in the wings. Cato, always the strong-willed one, would usually remain quiet during interviews, except to occasionally whisper guidance into Peeta's ear. Peeta conducted the interviews with the grace he'd possessed prior to the bloodbath, albeit he carried in his eyes an infinite sort of wisdom he'd lacked, and a naivety that allowed him to live in ignorance.

It was all exhausting. The interviews, the reporters, the pictures and autographs and marriage proposals. Could they not see he was happy with Cato? That's why they'd picked District 12, in the end, instead of the Capitol or Cato's home of District 2 or somewhere more flashy to set up their private residence. That's what they wanted; privacy. A house was procured for them in the Victor's Village, and now they were on their way to a residence where they would set up their own, personal "home".

Cato sat at the end of the bed now, in the tiny cabin that swayed along the tracks with the drapes drawn shut and the light casting ghostly shadows across the floor as the sun seeped in as it descended across the milky blue sky. Peeta watched his back as it rose and fell in steady breaths, a smooth expanse of skin stretched across expertly carved muscle and bone that made up his lover, his Cato. He felt his longing for the other settle among the spaces in the room like a wet blanket, his pace quickening as his expectation and need met great heights. Not the sharpest knife in the world could cut this air now, so thick was the atmosphere between the two. As if to sense the enveloping emotion, Cato turned then, his eyes wide and questioning and breathing the fire Peeta had become so entranced by when they'd first met. There was no question, only answered to be found in his gaze, and yet he posed questions of his own to Peeta that were mysterious and better kept that way.

Then, all at once, as if a twig had snapped underfoot, Peeta became prey as the hungry, predatory gleam in Cato's eye latched onto its target, and he sprung forth to ensnare Peeta in an embrace. Their limbs were all afoul in the knots of each other as they touched and explored as though they were marooned men on an island devoid of water and here someone had sent their own personal lakes. Lips met skin and lips and all of the sensitive fissures were being mapped by the expert cartography of their fingers and mouths. It might have been said brutal by anyone else, as muscles rippled against each other and teeth and nails battled for pseudo-dominance, but really it was all an elaborate dance. Peeta was owned, wholly and thoroughly, by his Grecian God whose eyes now encapsulated his very soul, his heart held taught on a leash. Cato's eyes burned with a fire of knowing and triumph, a look Peeta never tired of seeing. For Cato, Peeta had been a sort of Hunger Games all on his own, and now he could devour the other and claim his prize roughly and forcefully and know that Peeta was his. And yet there lay an undercurrent of pity, of restraint and knowing that this wouldn't last, that it was too good to be real, that Cato was merely a ghost of Peeta's memories. It made the moment all the sweeter.

For now they fought like school boys only just discovering their bodies, and continued that way long into the night until both reached a great satisfaction many times, connected fully, Peeta feeling more fulfilled than he had ever in his life alone with Cato, finally. They finally fell exhausted into a heap upon the bed, Peeta sprawled nude across his equally bare partner, chest to chest as they matched heartbeats and breathing until finally, finally, late into the night, they were one.

Peeta's eyes drifted closed, his arms straining against Cato's body. Their muscles seemed to fit so perfectly against one another, as though God himself did make them into corresponding shapes. In this moment, Peeta knew this had been no mistake of God's, no error in calculation. He and Cato were meant for each other. The thought of perfection lulled him into dreamless sleep, and for the first time in weeks, he slept without waking.

In the morning, when he woke, his body was still nestled into the warmth of Cato, as it had been when he'd fallen to sleep. He breathed in heavily through his nose, smiling slightly when he was met with the musk of his lover more so than the mixed scent of fuel and mothballs that distinguished the train. The bed shifted beneath him, and Peeta adjusted himself to match the moves of his bedmate. Without opening his eyes, Peeta whispered into the darkness, "I love you. Real or Not Real?"

There was no response. Peeta opened his eyes, straining them in the dark. When they adjusted, he realized rather quickly, and much to his dismay, that Cato was not in the room with him. There was no indentation, no warmth where his lover should have lain. There was nothing at all, but a pillow beneath him that he clutched like a lifeline. There was no Cato.

He was utterly alone, miles from home.

_Author's Note:_

_So. There's a lot of 'verses I use for my Cato/Peeta stories. I prefer to use canon for my personal musings, and usually prefer canon with all pairings, but since this pairing has little to utilize for story telling excluding the time Peeta spent with the Careers, for all of our sakes, lets make up our own storylines, yes? This is one of my more plausible ideas. In We Two Boys, I follow canon rather closely, whereas in Like a Switch, I go off into AU territory with a much more recreational story line. I hope you read this more as poetry than fan fiction, because that is closer two what I intended. As always, thank you for reading and any kind words. Your reviews enlighten my days. I do read them, all, and although I find it distasteful to use my work as a forum for replies, I would love to hear from you at my tumblr,_

_ bonkatze_

_Thanks Again!_

_P.S. There's a small fragment of lyric in here. Props if you spot it._


End file.
